Tallahassee
by IAmTheBabe
Summary: "What did I come down here for? You. It's always you."


AN: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its franchise; I merely frolick in the Wizarding World.

This was written for my dear friend and it has nothing to do with the capital of Florida and everything to do with the song "Tallahassee" by the Mountain Goats.

Chapter 1

Draco wishes he could say that they had been in love their whole lives.

He wishes he could say they were born side by side, swaddled and laid together in a bassinet to sleep. He wishes he could say their mothers looked over them with fondness as they cuddeled each other, tiny fingers entwined as they dreamed of unfathomable things.

He wishes he could say that they played together as children, that they ran through the bustling city streets where Draco grew up and where Harry visted often, arm in arm and in perfect step. He wishes he could tell stories of all the times they would run in and out of shops, kicking in snow and slush with their boots and giggling when the shopkeeper scolded them.

He wishes he didn't think so fondly of memories that never even happened to begin with.

He knew that to be impossible, of course. They were of different breeds and circumstance. For Christ's sake, Harry didn't even know who he was, barely even knew his own name, until he was eleven. And Draco had known his entire life who he was, and who he was supposed to be.

But he still had his wishes.

Such as how he wishes their first meeting hadn't gone like it had. He wishes he hadn't sneered out his superiority all over Harry like it actually belonged to him. He wishes he could've cracked a smile or at least a firm handshake instead of all-over arrogance. He wishes he hadn't been born into the Malfoy family so that maybe he would know how to act.

Sometimes, only sometimes, he wishes he had never been born.

More often than not though, he wishes he would not have allowed his life to turn out as it did.

But wishes are wishes, and that's all they're good for. You can spend your whole day wishing and wishing for something to happen, but you'll never achieve it without action, and Draco wished that was something he knew how to take.

It was the winter of Draco's discontent.

Then again, every season was the season of Draco's discontent. While every season had good days where the weather was perfect and felt like nostalgia, he could still find something wrong with the season as a whole.

This particular day of this particular winter was much like the rest: snow littered the ground, the trees, the roofs of all the buildings, you could even find it lingering in the window sills.

Draco didn't particularly like snowy days because, despite his black coat and uniform, the rest of him, his hair and his skin, was white. And besides, everyone wore black, so it wasn't like he stood out.

And he needed to stand out.

On that particular day, he felt like picking a fight. And, sure, he could use his ability to blend in to his advantage, stealthily walking though the snow, the only things visible being his cloak and his footprints, to sneak up on his pray and startle them. But he would have rather made himself known, that way he could see the impending dread on his prey's faces.

And to do that, he beckoned Crabb and Goyle. No way could he be invisible with those two around. And even if he couldn't be seen, it was well known that he had to be somewhere around them.

So he strode up to a group of three sitting on a bench around some book, his smirk growing wider with each step.

"Potter!"

The three looked up with collective groans.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked the youngest Weasly boy, his red hair bouncing as he puffed up his cheeks into what Draco assumed to be a scowl.

I came for Potter.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he sneered instead.

"I'd like to know why you always insist on bothering us," Harry spoke, rolling his eyes, green swirling around in annoyance and irritation.

I insist on seeing you.

"I just come to brighten your day is all," he smirked.

To Draco's own ears, and probably to everyone else's, he sounded like a child. Now that he was a young man of sixteen, one would think that he would stop flirting like a preschool age girl, picking on a boy, taunting and teasing him until he realized, "Hey, I think she might like-like me!"

Harry hadn't realized it yet.

"Oh, grow up," bit the fiery Hermione Granger, her lips curling back to show teeth.

I wish I could.

Ah, there he was, wishing again.

Normally, he would bother Harry for a bit more, but frankly, he was getting tired of Cockblock one and Cockblock two.

"Well, now that I've graced you with my presence, I suppose I should leave you now with a lasting memory of me," Draco smirked, kicking himself for being so immature. It just wasn't like him anymore, but he couldn't stop acting out.

He wanted to be noticed.

He waited for at least one scoff from the trio before turning gracefully on his heel and walking away, Crabb and Goyle in tow. And if the other two boys noticed him acting like he was eleven again, they didn't say anything.

Later that evening, Harry sat on his bunk with some kind of alcohol in his hand that somebody's brother or cousin or uncle had given them, he had lost track. Ron was sprawled across his lap, words bubbling out of him in the form of slurs and swears, his laughter as loud as his personality.

Seamus and Dean sat in a corner on their own, oblivious to the others in the room. Their fingers were laced together, ivory mixing with dark, smooth skin, creating a new color that could only be described as purity and acceptance. They leaned against each other, Dean's head on Seamus's shoulder, and they talked about everything on their minds without ever opening their mouths. Harry wondered if they only loved each other when they were drunk or if they loved each other all the time and were just too afraid to say so. Harry assumed the latter.

As the night wore on, Harry grew tired of watching the love fest, and of hearing Ron yell, and of laughing at the slightly more nervous Neville, and the alcohol he held in his hand was no longer strong enough. He excused himself, said he needed some air, and shoved Ron off his lap as lovingly as he possibly could.

"Something wrong, Harry? You've been a little off lately," Ron pointed (slurred) out, something resembling concern etched loosely into his features.

"I'm fine. Just need some air, is all," he said, stretching a tight smile across his lips as he made his way across the room to grab his invisibility cloak.

"What do you need that for?" Ron asked.

"Don't want to get caught," he shrugged.

The answer was enough for the boys and Harry was allowed to slink off and out of the room, his invisibility swallowing him whole.

The best and worse parts of being invisible was the animosity.

Sure he could see everything and nothing could see him, but the thing was that nothing could see him. Being invisible was scary.

As Harry walked through the dark halls of Hogwarts, he felt almost naked. He knew no one could see him, but he felt as if they could see through him. Even though, of course, no one was even around, save for Filch and the occasional teacher.

As he roamed, Harry's feet eventually led him to air. His heart, however, tried to immediately lead him away from that air because someone else was there. But his feet, stubborn as they were, stayed put, and so did Harry.

Upon further inspection, Harry realized the "other person" was none other than Draco Malfoy. It had taken Harry a second to recognize him with the way his starch blonde hair and porcelain skin stood out against the black of the night. He almost seemed to glow by the reflection of light from the moon and stars. Draco was completely still, save for the tears sliding quietly down his cheeks. It was beautiful, in a sense. He looked more like a painting than he did a man.

When he could watch no more, he figured his feet would lead him elsewhere, perhaps back to Gryffyndor, but instead, they inched him closer to Draco. Harry tried to stop and turn around, but something, probably sheer curiosity, kept him moving towards the crying boy.

As Harry neared Draco, his hand reached out to touch him, but he quickly pulled it back, reminding himself that while he could see Malfoy, Malfoy couldn't see h-

"You can give it up now, Potter. I know you're there," Draco said, obviously trying to hide the fact that he had been crying even though Harry knew.

Harry removed his invisibility cloak, because he really had no other choice. He felt ashamed, honestly. He should have walked away when he had the chance.

"So what are you doing here?" Draco asked, his voice holding less spite and hate than usual.

Harry scrambled for an answer.

"Just needed some air and this is where my feet led me," was all he could come up with.

Draco scoffed.

"You just wanted to see me look weak, huh?" Draco asked, probably intending to sound mean and strong but instead sounding plain tired.

Harry shook his head.

"Look, um, I know we don't really get along at all, but you can tell me what's bothering you, if you'd like. Maybe I could help," Harry offered weakly.

Now it was Draco's turn to shake his head.

"It's nothing important, so don't worry," Draco said, completely giving up the arrogance for a bit.

Harry offered what he hoped was a comforting smile before donning his cloak and taking off in the opposite direction.

As Draco watched him leave, the tears began falling again.

Something about the way Draco had looked, something about the way he completely gave up his personality, something about the way he went from pathetic to downright pitiful, really shook Harry down to his core. It left him feeling like he hadn't drank nearly enough alcohol. But it also left him feeling like he should go back to Draco. So he turned around.

And then he turned back around towards his room.

And then back around towards Draco.

He turned back and forth until he became dizzy and had to reach a hand out to the wall to steady himself.

Harry really wished his feet and heart would reach a mutual agreement so his head could stop swirling around.

"Go to Draco!" his heart screamed.

"Go back to your room," his feet demanded impatiently.

"Please don't drink anymore," his liver begged.

"Make up your minds! This is killing me," his brain whined.

"Shut up!" Harry yelled.

He turned on his heel and stormed off in Draco's direction. He ripped off his cloak and threw it to the ground.

"Potter, I thought I-"

"Look, Malfoy, I fought myself on whether to come to you or just go back and I came to the decision of you. Don't make me regret it," Harry snapped, his teeth almost forming a snarl.

Draco looked at him, his eyes still glassy with tears and his face still messily painted with droplets of frustration.

"What are you even doing here? You and I hate each other," Draco pointed out, not sounding as bitter as he would have liked.

"You don't hate me," Harry said.

Draco's eyes went a little wide at that statement. A lot wide, actually.

"What makes you think that?" Draco said, trying to sound snarky but instead sounding like he just swallowed a ping pong ball.

"You dropped your guard around me," Harry pointed out.

"I'm too tired to keep up my usual front," Draco said simply, his exhaustion seeping through his voice.

"This is a lot calmer," Harry said, leaning against the wall and tipping his head back with his eyes closed.

Draco breathed out a humorless laugh and looked at him. Really looked at him.

He took in Harry's features, his puffy eyes, his swollen lips, his flushed complexion, everything about him screaming "I may have had too much to drink". Draco almost admired the way he slumped his shoulders, his posture too old and worn out for a boy his age. It made Draco want to reach out and touch him, drape an arm around him and comfort him even though he himself was the one who needed comforting.

Draco took a second to remember that they were both sixteen years of age, despite feeling forty. Draco longed to reach out for the hand that he had loved since about his third year of school, but he knew that he shouldn't, couldn't, do that.

Another tear rolled down his cheek but he wiped it away.

"Why are you crying, anyway?" Harry asked him.

You. It's always you.

"Nothing important," Draco brushed him off.

"It wouldn't be 'nothing important' if you couldn't stop crying, now could it?" Harry said wisely, turning his head to look at Draco.

"It's not something I can tell you about," Draco said, trying to hide his heart and thoughts from the one who occupied them.

Harry just nodded in understanding.

"I need a drink," Draco said after a few minutes of silence.

Harry laughed. He leaned over and picked his cloak up off the floor. He held it around his shoulders without putting it on, making room for Draco.

"Get in," Harry said, serious yet mischievous look upon his face.

"You can't be serious," Draco said incredulously.

"You want that drink?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raised.

Draco looked between Harry and the cloak.

He really wanted that drink.

As they walked, bumping into each other with harsh swears and hidden smiles, Draco couldn't help but think about how completely unlike him this was. He was supposed to despise Potter, stay away from him, coming near him only to taunt him, yet he couldn't. And while he knew that the world around didn't have the kind of time for him to still be worried about harboring his love, and while Harry, of course, wasn't the only thing that weighed on his mind, he was a big thing. A huge thing.

But being pressed up against Harry, stealing drinks with Harry, going back to their original spot and tossing back those drinks like they were at Mardi Gras, made Draco forget the world's problems for just a little bit.

"This is weird, hanging out with you, you know? Like we're supposed to be mortal enemies, but I can't really figure out why anymore," Harry said, downing the rest of the bottle in his hand.

Draco swallowed his drink and nodded.

"I know exactly what you mean," he said, pointing his finger at Harry.

Harry hummed in agreement.

"So, are you still upset?" Harry asked.

"No, I don't think so. I can't really tell anymore," Draco said, scratching his head.

Harry hummed again.

"We should do this more often," Draco said, slumping over and leaning on Harry.

"You mean get completely plastered and then lean all over me?" Harry asked, trying to sound annoyed even though he wasn't.

"Yes," Draco nodded.

Harry shook his head.

"Hey, are you falling asleep?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco said, cuddling into Harry's shoulder and closing his eyes.

"Malfoy! Get up!" Harry said, moving away from Draco.

Draco's body that was once supported by Harry fell to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked as he pulled Malfoy up off the floor.

"'m fine," Draco said dreamily.

"Let's get you back to Slytherin," Harry said, looking for the cloak.

"No. I want to stay with you," Draco said.

"But you really need to sleep," Harry persisted.

"Take me with you, then," Draco pushed.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because I don't want to go back there," Draco said.

"Why?" Harry asked, wondering of that was the reason he was upset earlier.

"I don't want to go back because you're not there," Draco said, pouting.

Harry looked at him.

"What would it matter if I'm there or not?" he asked.

"I'm so tired of having to live without you," Draco spoke, his eyelids fluttering.

"You're not making any sense," Harry said, trying to shake Draco so he didn't fall asleep.

Draco shot straight up then, completely off of Harry's support. His eyes shot wide open, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

"What do you mean I'm not making any sense," Draco said, suddenly sounding sober.

"Well I-"

Draco grabbed Harry's face and pulled him into him. He placed a sweet kiss onto Harry's lips, pulling away when he felt he had made his point.

"Draco, I-"

"Shh. Don't speak," Draco snapped.

"But I-"

"I don't want to hear it," Draco said. He turned away from Harry and began walking away.

"Draco, wait!" Harry called.

But Draco didn't wait.

He let his feet lead him all the way back home.


End file.
